


Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy

by PorcupineGirl



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fandom Trumps Hate 2017, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Outsider, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Snowy POV, Snowy is a hipster foodie, you know what happens when you make assumptions, you make an ass out of u and mption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:04:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9821750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcupineGirl/pseuds/PorcupineGirl
Summary: Jesse Snowden knows all the best restaurants and gourmet food shops in Providence, so when Jack Zimmermann starts bringing in incredible baked goods, he's eager to find out where the new bakery is. When he meets the man behind the pies, he decides that there's no way Jack could really appreciate this guy's talent the way he does, even if they are friends. He starts hiring Jack's chef on the side, in the hopes that maybe once Bitty's done with college he'll come work for Jesse.Good thing there is absolutely no way whatsoever that Jesse could possibly be misinterpreting this situation.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sophia_Prester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Prester/gifts).



> This is for [Sophia_Prester](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sophia_prester), who won one of my Fandom Trumps Hate auctions! This was a really fun prompt. :)
> 
> Betad by [DoubleNegative](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doublenegative). The one line of French was translated by [redscudery](http://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery) \- who also greatly improved on the joke. See endnotes for the translation.
> 
> I will admit, after this I will be glad to not do another outsider POV fic for a while. :) These two were fun, but I miss writing the fluffy zimbits scenes.
> 
> Title is a famous mishearing of the lyrics _Excuse me while I kiss the sky_ in Jimi Hendrix's Purple Haze.

Jesse's not a fucking snob, okay? He's not! He knows full well that college isn't for everyone, especially in today's economy. And he knows that not going to college, especially when you've got the option to be drafted into the fucking NHL instead, doesn't mean someone isn't smart.

Take Thirdy, for instance. Dude taught himself programming and some kind of circuit board shit, just for fun, and has rigged like every fucking appliance in his house to be controlled over the internet. He's smart as hell, and the fact that he was making six digits by the age of 19 is honestly a point in favor of that, not against it.

Even so, Jesse's ears always perk up every time he hears they're getting someone out of the NCAA. He can't help it, his inner philosophy major (and music theory minor) misses late nights being pretentious in a campus coffee shop, picking up girls (and the occasional boy or non-binary person, although he doesn't like labels) by quoting fucking Sartre or Plato at them.

He'll never again be as pretentious as only a 20-year-old can, and being a pro athlete means he can pick up pretty much any girl he wants, Sartre or no (not so much with the boys and non-binary people unless he's _really_ fucking careful), but he likes to take rookies out for coffee and hear about what they studied anyhow. You can learn a lot about a person by listening to them tell you about a topic that truly interests them.

So when rumblings start going around that the Falcs are courting Jack fucking Zimmermann, he pays attention.

Jesse sort of lost track of Jack after the infamous breakdown—well, as much as anyone in the NHL could possibly lose track of someone who is still a favorite punching bag of certain asshole sportscasters. He knows Zimmermann is at Samwell, which is pretty damn interesting. It's one of those schools where, despite its Division I status, the jocks are more likely to become doctors and lawyers than to go pro. A little Googling shows that Jack is a history major—also interesting. Not a blow-off degree, or anything remotely related to sports. His GPA isn't posted anywhere, but the men's ice hockey page brags about their overall high average—and it is, indeed, impressive for a team that's currently cleaning up in the playoffs.

So once Jack actually arrives, Jesse makes a point of taking him out for coffee and asking about his history degree.

For a moment, Jack just fidgets, laughing nervously.

"You don't actually want to hear about that, do you?"

"Try me, man," Jesse says.

Which is how he discovers that Jack Zimmermann is not so much an intellectual as a _huge fucking nerd_.

It's not the first time he's caught off guard by Zimmermann, nor the last. For a guy who literally grew up surrounded by hockey legends, who would probably be right at home having dinner with fucking Mario Lemieux or Wayne Gretzky, he's kind of shy around the team when they're not on the ice. Or maybe shy isn't the word. The guy is clearly introverted as fuck, and also focused as fuck. He doesn't talk much if it isn't about hockey (or, as Jesse has now learned, World War II), and he hardly socializes with the team, but that might not be due to shyness.

Because Jesse's _not_ shocked that Jack isn't much interested in going out drinking after practice. His first year on the Falconers, there was this dude Boucher who'd played with Jack in juniors. One day when they were in a bar with a TV and some talking head had brought up the whole overdose thing, someone had asked him if the cocaine rumors were true. Boucher said there was no way, but that Jack had been a hell of a drinker. And that once, when Boucher was rooming with him, he'd noticed that Jack had a bottle of Xanax. Add those together, and you wouldn't need any fucking cocaine to wind up unconscious on the bathroom floor.

So Jesse's actually pretty relieved (he thinks they all kind of are) to get the nerdy, quiet, focused Jack Zimmermann instead of the partying teenager some people still can't shut up about. Not that he doesn't trust George's judgment! Shit, when she'd announced that they were making him an offer, Mitchy had asked if it was really a good idea and she'd about bit his fucking head off. And she'd been absolutely right about Jack on every count.

But Jack's biggest surprise doesn't come until mid-August.

First, pies start showing up in the nook. Fucking _good_ pies. Jesse's not much of a fruit pie man, but the maple apple he tries almost converts him. The chocolate cream and the custard that show up after it are fucking _ridiculous_.

"Where the fuck are these coming from?" he asks Marty around a mouthful of custard pie. Marty shrugs, but Tater happens to be walking by.

"Zimmboni is bringing them!" he announces in a booming voice, then lowers it conspiratorially. "He is not saying where they are coming from, but I think he has girlfriend. Too shy to tell us."

"Well if she keeps making this shit for us, I hope he fucking marries her," Jesse replies.

But it doesn't end with pies. There are oatmeal peanut butter cookies, cupcakes, fucking _macarons_ , and a couple loaves of freshly-baked bread—and that's just the first couple weeks.

Jesse can't really cook, let alone bake, but he _knows_ good cooking and good food. And he sort of can't believe all this is coming from a girl who's dating _Jack fucking Zimmermann_. The guy who orders chicken fingers every time he eats out with the team. Who, earlier in the summer, admitted to having protein shakes for dinner at least a couple of times a week.

"So I hear we've got you to thank for these," he says one day when Jack walks by while he's eating a pumpkin whoopie pie with cinnamon filling.

Zimmermann looks startled for a second. "Oh, um." He scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at Jesse. "Yeah, I—I guess so?"

"So is your girl a fucking pastry chef or something? 'Cause this shit is _legit_."

"Uh." Jack's eyes go wide. "No! It's not my girlfriend. I mean, I don't have a girlfriend. I, ah, I told Tater that but apparently he didn't believe me if he's still telling everyone I do, eh?"

"So are you buying this stuff from a bakery in town?" Jesse raises an eyebrow. "Because I gotta get their address, bro." He's sure he would have heard about it if a new bakery had opened up that did shit like this, but who knows.

"No, um." Jack's eyes start to cast around again, and he backs away toward the locker room. "I just—I know someone who bakes a lot. That's all. I gotta go change."

Jesse stares after Jack as he chews his last bite of whoopie pie. It's damn good food, and he's not looking a gift horse in the mouth, but why the hell is Jack being cagey as fuck about where he's getting it?

Maybe he just doesn't want to share. But that doesn't even make sense, since he's bringing all this in specifically _to share with them_. Jesse shakes his head as he goes to the locker room. Jack Zimmermann is a weird dude sometimes.

 

A couple months into the season, Jesse runs into Jack walking with a short blonde guy on the way into practice.

"Hey, who's your friend, Zimmermann?" he asks as they enter the building.

Jack looks wary, for some reason, like he'd rather Jesse hadn't spoken to them. But he obliges, if hesitantly.

"Oh, uh. This is, um, Eric. Bittle." He looks at the blonde guy and nods toward Jesse. "This is Jesse Snowden, our goalie."

"Oh, call me Bitty," the blonde guy—er, Bitty—says, a huge grin spread over his face as he reaches over to shake Jesse's hand. "Jack just offered to show me around a little before practice. I swear, I don't know how y'all find your way around this place, it's like a labyrinth back here…"

Jesse loses track of what Bitty is saying for a second because he notices the two covered pie plates Bitty is carrying under his other arm. He can't help interrupting Bitty's stream of consciousness rambling about the size and complexity of the arena.

"Dude. Are you the one who's been baking all the shit Jack brings in?"

Bitty blinks at him for a second, but then if anything his smile gets even wider. "Sure am! I've got a cherry pie and a lemon meringue today."

They happen to be passing by the nook right then.

"Oh, Bittle, right here," Jack says, stopping.

Jesse watches them for a minute as Jack helps Bitty lay out the pies. So, definitely not Jack's girlfriend. He would assume it was just some buddy of Jack's, but Jack isn't even calling him by the informal nickname he apparently tells people who just met him to call him. So, some kind of professional relationship that makes Jack want to keep things more formal?

"Where's your bakery?" he finally asks. "'Cause lemme tell you, you've got a new customer right here."

Bitty laughs. "Oh my goodness, don't I wish! Sorry, I do not have my own bakery, not yet at least. For now I'm afraid you're only going to be able to get this stuff through Jack."

"Ah." Jesse nods, then it hits him—Jack hired a fucking _personal pastry chef_ —or, no, that seems unlikely. Personal chef, though. That makes perfect sense; Jack certainly doesn't seem like he can feed himself. Just one that happens to specialize in desserts, and is doing the personal chef gig until he can open his own bakery. That explains all the extra baked goods he sends with Jack to the team.

"Well, hey, man," he says to Bitty, slapping Jack on the shoulder. "You get sick of making pies for this guy, come find me, okay?"

Bitty laughs, but Jack just forces a smile as Jesse heads to the locker room.

He's joking, of course. But… maybe not? He's thought about hiring a personal chef for years. His family would give him no end of grief about it, but they already give him grief for being a _hipster foodie_ to begin with. (Because apparently enjoying fusion restaurants that source local ingredients is something that needs a _label_ now.) But his own cooking skills are limited (though he's been watching a lot of Food Network and learning), and it would be nice to get that quality of food at home.

There's no way Jack appreciates this guy's talent as much as Jesse would. Jack probably has him making fucking chicken tenders with a different flavor of dipping sauce every night. He'd probably much rather work for someone who would let him— _encourage_ him, even—to get creative.

 

It's December before Jesse sees Bitty again. He's coming in early for practice one day—his knee's been bugging him and he wants Brian, the trainer, to look at it—and there Bitty is in the nook, Jack nowhere to be seen.

When Jesse first sees him from across the room, he's adding something to the top of a tall stack of things. As Jesse gets closer, Bitty dips a spoon into a glass bowl full of amber liquid, and starts spinning delicate threads of caramelized sugar around his creation.

Jesse stands there watching, entranced, until Bitty glances over and sees him.

"Oh, hi! I didn't see you there."

"Is that a fucking croquembouche?" It's a stupid question, because it clearly is, but it's so much fancier than anything people usually leave here for public consumption that he has to make sure.

Bitty lights up at the recognition. "Yes, it is! I fell down a rabbit hole of choux pastry tutorial videos on YouTube the other day, and got a bee in my bonnet 'cause I've never made one of these before. I figured it made more sense to assemble it here than to try and carry it in all piled up and pray it doesn't wind up all over the car floor. It's also the first time I have ever caramelized sugar in a microwave." He nods to the microwave that, as far as Jesse knows, has only been used for leftovers and frozen meals until today. "Wasn't sure I trusted it, to be honest, but it seems to be all right. Oh my goodness, listen to me, you don't care about any of that!"

"Nah, nah," Jesse says. This is a perfect time to start hinting how much better working for him would be than Jack. "That's awesome. I'm a Food Network junkie, bro. I've watched people make these on a couple different shows, but I've never seen one in real life."

"Well, gimme one sec—" He pulls out his phone and takes a photo of his masterpiece. "—there, sorry. It's so pretty, I had to get a picture before it gets demolished. Now feel free to have at it!"

Bitty waves at the stack of cream puffs with a flourish, and Jesse reaches out to take one. He's careful to take one from the back of the pile, where it won't disturb the appearance to anyone walking by.

He bites into it, and his mouth is flooded with sticky caramel, perfectly fluffy pastry, and thick, rich pastry cream.

"Holy shit, that's good," he says sincerely. "Do you work with pâte à choux a lot? I don't think I've ever seen Jack bring in anything like that."

"Not that much, actually," Bitty says, pulling a puff off the back of the stack himself. "I mean, I've made cream puffs and eclairs before, but not that often. I really should, though—don't get me wrong, pie will always be my favorite food and my go-to for just about everything, but honestly this stuff is way less fussy than a pie crust. It's got me wondering what else I could do with it. I think I might try beignets for Mardi Gras this year."

"Seems like you could fill them with something savory and have a good appetizer or something," Jesse offers, leaning on the table.

Bitty nods as he sucks some sugar off his finger. "I found a recipe for gougères I'd really like to try. You mix cheese into the dough itself and then you can either just serve them like that, or filled with something like mushrooms. Although, Jack can be picky about cheeses, I should find out if he even likes Gruyère…"

Bitty frowns thoughtfully, then pulls out his phone and types something.

There's definitely an opportunity here. There's a twinge of guilt in Jesse's stomach, but then he reasons—it's not like feeding fucking _Jack Zimmermann_ is a full-time job. If it were, Bitty wouldn't be baking so much extra for Jack to bring in here. Surely the guy would at least appreciate some extra work on the side.

"I fuckin' love Gruyère," he says, "but I'm worthless at baking, doesn't matter how much Food Network I watch. Any chance I could hire you to make some of those things for me?" Bitty looks up, eyebrows raised. "My sister's in New Haven; she always has a party on Christmas Eve, and I always wind up just bringing some store-bought shit. Those things—gougères?—those would be perfect."

"Well—sure, I guess! You're lucky, I'll be in town for the holidays, with plenty of spare time. Y'all have an optional practice that morning, right? I can have Jack bring them in with him."

"Sounds great." Jesse holds out his hand for Bitty's phone, smiling. "I gotta get in there, but lemme give you my number and we can talk about how many and prices and shit."

"Sure," Bitty says, handing over his phone. Jesse's not sure why he looks so surprised; surely with these skills he's got people trying to hire him left and right.

"Okay," Jesse says, plucking another cream puff from the sticky pile as he starts to leave. "Well, text me and we'll bang out the details. Good to see you!"

After practice, he sits down on the bench next to Jack in the locker room.

"So where'd you find that guy, anyhow? He's something else."

Even if Bitty doesn't need another full-time job, maybe if he's from an agency Jesse can find someone just as good.

Jack squints at him, brow furrowed. "What guy?"

"Bitty," Jesse clarifies. "That croquembouche was fucking gorgeous."

"Oh!" Jack's face brightens. "Bittle's a friend from college. He was my teammate at Samwell."

Jesse blinks. Not the answer he expected. "Oh. Cool. So, he happened to move down to Providence after graduation, too?"

"Oh, no, no." Jack shakes his head with a fond smile. "He's still a student. He just visits a lot. He's, um—" Jack's smile fades, and he glances around the locker room. Then he shrugs and the smile comes back, but it's a little less sincere this time. "He was my best friend there."

Things start to rearrange themselves in Jesse's head. Okay, so Jack isn't employing Bitty full-time. Which means Jesse might still be able to get him for the summer, or after he graduates.

But Bitty definitely visits more often than makes sense for just a buddy from college, best friend or no. This explains why sometimes two or three weeks go by with no baked goods, but that's only happened like twice since August. Sometimes there's stuff that's freshly-baked to the point of still being warm _in the middle of the fucking week_. So Jack must be paying him to do it part-time whenever he can get away from school for a day or two; makes sense, you're making fucking bank while your buddy is a poor college student, he probably won't accept charity, so you find a way to give him a job.

"So, what, you eat like a king while he's here and live on fucking protein shakes again as soon as he leaves?" Jesse elbows Jack with a laugh.

Jack laughs, too, shaking his head. "He never leaves without making sure I have a freezer full of meals."

"Damn, that's fucking service," Jesse says, and they both laugh. Jesse claps him on the shoulder as he gets up to leave. "Watch out, man. He agreed to do some appetizers for me for a party. Once he graduates, I might have to steal the little fucker from you." He winks at Jack. He's only half-joking, but Jack doesn't have to know that.

But the way Jack's laugh is a little forced, and the look he gives Jesse a little too intense, makes him think Jack might know there's a grain of truth to it. Jesse didn't expect him to be so serious about it. Jack gets intense about the weirdest shit, though, and he's learning not to take it personally.

He arranges for Bitty to bake three dozen artichoke-stuffed gougères, which turn out fucking _amazing_. He insists on paying Bitty $20/hour plus supplies, even though the guy tries to take half that. Jesse's kind of annoyed, actually—is _Jack_ only paying him that much? He may not have a culinary degree, but Jesse's looked around and seen personal chefs for $40/hour or more. No way is Bitty only worth $10.

But he knows better than to interfere there. It's risky enough, bringing money into any friendship—butting his head in and saying outright that Jack should be paying Bitty more will probably just piss both of them off. So he just insists that Bitty is worth more than even he's paying.

After the party, he tells Bitty how well they went over (they were gone in fifteen minutes, all three dozen) and how everyone was raving and asking for the recipe.

Jesse: Do you teach at all? Either here or in Samwell? I think my cousin who lives in Boston would totally make the drive for baking lessons from you.

Bitty: Oh, goodness, no! I have so many of my own classes, I don't think I could manage a commitment like that!

Bitty: But you know, I do have something else.

Jesse: A cookbook manuscript?

Bitty: Haha, no, although I have considered it.

Bitty: So this is kind of a secret? I mean, it's not a secret, my friends all know it exists, but I generally ask them not to watch it. But I have a series of baking videos on YouTube. They're kind of one-third diary, two-thirds how-to, so that's why I don't want anyone I know too well watching.

Bitty: But if you find out anything really embarrassing it's a lot easier for me to avoid you and pretend I'm not humiliated. No offense.

Jesse: Haha, none taken. No, I get it. I've posted stuff online that I wouldn't want my friends to see, but it's out there where total strangers can read it.

Bitty: So anyhow, here's the URL. You can decide whether it'd be a good idea to show your cousin.

The thing is, Jesse's actually really bad about watching anything on YouTube. If he's gonna watch TV, he's gonna watch it on the fucking 85" TV he's built his home theater around. And yeah, his TV has some fancy thing built in so he can watch stuff on the internet, but most YouTube videos aren't at a high enough resolution to look even halfway decent on a screen that big. Including Bitty's, it turns out. But he manages to watch a few episodes on his laptop; not necessarily the most recent ones or in any order, just whatever topics look interesting.

That's how he learns that not only should Bitty have his own fucking Food Network show, but he's gay. Which, okay, Jesse had wondered a little, but that's dangerous shit to assume. No way is he gonna try to fuck—or even _really_ flirt with—a teammate's friend, but the knowledge does make him a little less careful about what he says. So maybe he says a few things that he wouldn't say to someone who wasn't a hot gay guy.

Jesse: I just watched the episode where you hate Jack because he's getting you up early.

Bitty: Oh no! I swear, he got a lot better. Obviously we're really close now, and in hindsight I really appreciate all the work he put in helping me get over my checking thing.

Jesse: I'm just completely unsurprised. "Jack Zimmermann works harder than God" - fuckin A, man. But that's why he's got the fuckin A, you know? He fucking earned that shit.

Bitty: I know he did. I am so proud of him, you have no idea.

Jesse: But even in an episode where you spend half of it exhausted and are filming in near-dark and shit, you manage to have hella screen presence.

Bitty: Well, thank you!

Jesse: Seriously, if I knew any TV producers I'd be sending them your way. You're great on camera, your baking skills are insane, plus you're hot? That's a no-brainer.

Bitty: ::blushing emoji:: You are far too kind.

 

Jesse _may_ have talked up Bitty's baking when people commented on the gougères at Christmas, so he's not too shocked when his sister asks about getting the same guy to do her son's cake for his birthday in February. He's pretty psyched for the chance to give Bitty some more business; it gives him a reason to stay in touch with him, for one thing. He doesn't show up at the arena that often, even if his baked goods do, and Jesse thinks it might seem kind of odd if he contacts Bitty about maybe working for him this summer when they haven't spoken in four or five months.

He arranges to meet Bitty at a coffee shop in Samwell to pick up the cake. A couple weeks before that happens, though, the Falconers have a charity event at a local bar. They've taken it over for the night, taking turns bartending with all cover charges and sales going to the American Cancer Society, so it basically looks like a normal bar crowd except a) twice as fucking crowded and b) at least half the customers are wearing Falconers shit.

Jesse has one of the first bartending shifts. About twenty minutes in, he's surprised when a big burly guy takes his drinks and leaves, revealing none other than Bitty ready to take his place.

"Hey! Didn't expect to see you here," Jesse says. He leans over the bar on his elbows and gives Bitty a friendly grin. "What'll it be?"

"Well, hi there! I didn't expect to be here, either, but my only class tomorrow got cancelled so I figured I'd come down. And I just need a couple of Cokes."

Jesse raises an eyebrow. "Really? Cokes? That's it? I know Jack doesn't drink much, but you're a healthy, normal college student, right?"

"Mr. Snowden," Bitty says with a wry grin, "I am not yet twenty-one years old, and I wouldn't wanna get y'all in trouble."

Jesse snorts. "Wasn't planning to fucking card you. How'd you get in the door, anyhow?"

Bitty rolls his eyes. "The man at the door isn't about to card the guy walking in with Jack Zimmermann, either."

"Fair enough." He leans in a little closer so he can lower his voice. "If you want me to slip a shot into one of those Cokes, I won't tell if you won't."

"Well, twist my arm, why don't you." Bitty looks amused, but there's also something calculated in the way he's looking at Jesse, like he's trying to figure something out. Jesse has no clue what that's all about, but he's probably just imagining it.

He grabs two Cokes, one with a little rum in it, and slides them over to Bitty with a wink.

"What?" he says when Bitty tries to give him a twenty. "Soda is on the house tonight, bro. We gotta be nice to the designated drivers and shit."

"Well then, that's for the secret ingredient. And it's for charity! Besides," Bitty adds with a cute little faux-innocent shrug, "it's Jack's money tonight, not mine."

Jesse grins and accepts the money.

It's not like it's one of their $250-a-plate dinner things, so it's not _super_ weird that Jack's brought a friend with instead of a girlfriend. Actually, Tater hasn't even mentioned Jack's supposed girlfriend in weeks. Maybe they broke up? If she ever existed, which Tater only managed to sell Jesse on about 50%. At any rate, Bitty being here isn't _that_ weird, but it's still not quite the usual. It's nice of Jack, though, to let his friend come down from Samwell for this and pay for the kid's drinks and everything. Maybe if he did get dumped, Bitty's hanging out with him extra to help him get over that. That would make sense.

When Jesse's done at the bar, he gets a beer and starts making the rounds, talking to fans and hanging out with his teammates. The bar is large and packed, so he only runs into Jack once and doesn't see Bitty again until a couple hours later when he comes up on Bitty and Tater talking.

"Snowy goalie!" Tater throws a huge arm around Jesse's shoulders. "You know Bitty, yes?"

"'Course," Jesse says, smiling at Bitty. "We go way back. In fact, we're getting coffee together in a couple weeks."

Tater turns to Bitty, pouting. "Hey, how come I am not getting coffees with you?"

"Well, you gotta come up to Samwell like Snowy's doing." Bitty laughs and shrugs. "Buying a cake from me don't hurt, either."

"Oh yes," Tater says, "that's right. We just talking about what Bitty going to bake tomorrow morning for Jack to bring us."

"Nice," Jesse says.

"I came across a recipe for a maple cream pie online a couple weeks ago," Bitty says, "and Jack's been after me to make one ever since, so y'all might just get one of those whether you like it or not. But I'm open to requests for a second pie."

"I am liking pecan best," Tater says, "or apple."

"Didn't he just leave us pecan _and_ apple last week?" Jesse asks.

Tater shrugs. "Is classics!"

"Any kind of pie you miss from Russia that you haven't had here?" Bitty asks him.

"Eh." Tater waggles his head noncommittally. "Most of our pies… what is word… not for dessert? Is having fish or cabbage in them."

"Savory?" Jesse and Bitty offer at the same time. Jesse grins at Bitty.

"Yes, that is word! Savory."

"So what's your favorite, then?" Bitty asks, elbowing Jesse.

"I'd say strawberry rhubarb," he answers, shrugging one shoulder, "but I doubt you're gonna get rhubarb between now and tomorrow morning, especially out of season."

"That is a problem," Bitty says, "but I'll keep that in mind for later."

"What about a meringue?" Jesse suggests. "I love meringue, just about any filling. Chocolate, lemon, butterscotch, coconut, whatever."

"That I can do," Bitty says with a smile. "I'll check what ingredients we've got, I'm sure I can whip up something."

"Jack is really fucking lucky to have you, you know that?" Jesse says, shaking his head.

Bitty laughs and blushes, looking away.

"He's right," Tater insists. "Zimmboni lucky guy."

"I think I am the lucky one in this situation," Bitty says with a bit of an eyeroll, "but thank you."

Jesse can't help but be a little annoyed on Bitty's behalf. _He's_ lucky to be dragged down to Providence at least once a week, sometimes more, when he should be studying, to cook for someone who doesn't even pay him what he's worth? Surely he could find a better job closer to school.

"I'm serious," Jesse insists. "A guy like you must have plenty of options closer to school. Jack better fucking appreciate what he's got."

Bitty blinks at him for a second, surprised or maybe confused, Jesse can't quite tell in the dark bar. Then Bitty gives him a somewhat tight smile.

"Don't you worry. I can assure you that Jack is very appreciative. We're both very happy."

Just then, Poots appears at Jesse's shoulder. "Hey, we got some people who just walked in looking specifically for you. Who knew there was a goalie fan club?"

After punching Poots on the arm, Jesse lets himself be dragged away so he can do his job for the night, doling out selfies and autographs.

It's another hour and a few drinks later before he runs into Bitty again. It's not even midnight, so he's surprised to see that Bitty's got his coat and scarf on.

"You're heading out already?" Jesse asks him.

"Jack's just about reached his limit on crowds for the night. He's just finishing up a few more autographs." He nods over to where Jack is talking to a small group of women who all look like they want to pounce on him. He just looks tired and oblivious to their flirting. Jesse thinks about his possible recent breakup and wonders if he even realizes how many puck bunnies he could choose from. Not his place to pry, though.

"Y'know, if you wanted to stay, I could give you a ride later," he says instead. "It's just, you seem a little more social than Silent McIntrovert over there."

Bitty's brow furrows and his head tilts curiously, like he's trying to figure Jesse out. "Thanks, but I'm perfectly happy leaving with Jack."

"Hey, look," Jesse says, leaning in close so he doesn't have to shout over the noise. "I know what you guys have going on works for you right now, but does Jack even fucking realize he's getting the better end of the deal here?"

"Excuse me?" Later Jesse will realize that it's only the two extra drinks he's had that keep him from noticing the ice in Bitty's tone.

"I know you guys were teammates, and you've known each other for years, and you're really fucking close and all, but look—once you graduate, and you're looking for something more serious, if Jack isn't willing to give it to you, let me know, okay? Nothing against him, he's a great guy, but I think I'm in a better position to give you the kind of challenge you need."

When he pulls back enough to see Bitty's face properly, he's kind of confused at the look of shock there. Okay, maybe he overstepped a little. Shit. The kid does still have over a year of school left. He can't work for both of them plus school, and it's not like he's going to quit on Jack and start coming down to fucking Providence just to work part-time for Jesse. Maybe Jesse should not have tried to bring this up when he's had a little too much to drink. But even so, Bitty's reaction seems a little over-the-top for what's really just business.

"Excuse me, Mr. Snowden, but I do not need nor appreciate your input on my relationship with Jack. I think I need to go now. Let your sister know I'll be returning the deposit for her cake, and she'll need to find another baker."

And then he's storming off before Jesse can even argue.

 _Fuck_. He doesn't know why Bitty is so fucking sensitive about this, but he's probably gonna have to do some groveling just to salvage Lauren's cake, let alone have any hope of hiring the guy again in the future. Jack's probably gonna be annoyed, too. Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to bring this up when he's half-drunk? Fuck his life.

 

Jesse wakes up the next morning with not quite a hangover, but definitely a headache.

Serves him right; he's a fucking idiot who's probably pissed off both Bitty and Jack. Even aside from wanting to hire Bitty, it was stupid of him to basically insult his teammate to his best friend. Even if he does think that said teammate is taking advantage of said best friend's ignorance of the market value of his own fucking talent.

He's gonna have to eat some humble pie, pun entirely intended. Apologize to Jack for sort of trying to hire Bitty out from under him (even if the guy could probably handle working for both of them once he's out of school, maybe even another client or two since they're out of town so much), apologize to Bitty for cornering him, apologize to both of them for sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong.

He sighs and drags himself to practice. He's not even to the locker room yet when suddenly there's Jack, stalking down the hallway toward him with fire in his eyes.

Jesse runs a hand over his face. So they're doing this now.

"Jack, I'm—" He's cut off when Jack grabs him by the shoulder and shoves him up against the wall. Jack's only got about an inch on him, but also a good thirty pounds of solid muscle, and the effect is definitely intimidating.

"Look," Jack growls, "I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but you need to _stay away from Bittle_."

It takes a second for Jesse to overcome his shock enough to reply. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have cornered him like that, I was kinda drunk, it was stupid. I'll keep my nose outta your fucking business."

"You'll keep—it sounds like you were trying to do a little more than _stick your nose in our fucking business_."

Jesse squints at Jack. Okay, yeah, he came here today planning to apologize. And he knows he's still the one in the wrong here, really. But why the fuck are they both getting _this_ fucking pissy about this? This is, like, an order of magnitude more reaction than he'd expected, even if they were both annoyed with him.

"Look, I said I was sorry! I shouldn't have butted in, but it's not like I'm wrong, okay? Once that dude graduates, what you're giving him now won't be enough, but he seems like the type who might not complain just out of loyalty to you. Just think about that, Jack." Jack's face is turning red at this point, and his fist is clenched tight enough that Jesse can see the veins in his arm. Fuck. Jesse's gotta learn to keep his fucking mouth shut. "Anyhow, that's like a year and a half from now, right? So why even worry about it. And it's not like he wouldn't be able to handle both of us at once anyhow."

Jack's mouth literally drops open. He's looking at Jesse as if Jesse just questioned his mother's fidelity and then suggested Bitty do something lewd with the next pie he bakes.

Jack, thankfully, takes a step back, shaking his head.

"I'm gonna go now," he says, voice low and shaking. "Before I do something I regret. You just stay the fuck away from both of us."

Jesse watches Jack stalk off toward the locker rooms, only daring to breathe out when he's out of sight.

Jesus fuck.

What the actual fuck was that?

He carefully avoids Jack in the locker room, changing as far away as humanly possible. But it seems like Jack isn't done taking this out on him. No, Jack, who is supposed to be _a fucking captain_ , takes every goddamn opportunity the entire practice to let Jesse know how pissed he is.

First he fucking "jostles" him (read: basically fucking checks him into the wall) on the way out of the locker room. Then during warmups, Jack crashes into him once and then basically fucking _trips him._ Then once Jesse's in position, he swears to fucking god that Jack is aiming for his face. Anyone else and he'd write it off as bad luck, but Zimmermann is good enough that he might actually be aiming.

It's bad enough that the other guys notice, and as soon as practice ends Thirdy is grabbing Jesse and Marty is grabbing Jack, and they're both being hauled off to separate rooms.

"Okay, the fuck is going on between you and Zimmermann?" Thirdy asks. "It must be something major, because I don't know if there are two people on this team that I thought were _less_ likely to bring their problems on the ice with them."

"Look, I fucked up, and I admitted that and apologized. I don't know why Zimmermann can't fucking let it go."

"What the fuck did you _do_ , Snowy?"

Jesse sighs and runs a hand over his face. "It's stupid. Y'know Bitty, the guy who sends pies and shit in with Jack?" Thirdy nods, frowning. "Okay, well look, I hired him to do some baking for me, right? So we've been talking, and I've been getting some idea of what kind of arrangement he's got with Jack. And at the bar last night, I got a little drunk and told him that after he graduates, if Jack isn't willing to give him a better deal, he should call me."

"You said _WHAT?_ " Thirdy looks absolutely fucking appalled, and Jesse is about done with this.

"What the _fuck_ , man? You, too?" He'd really thought Thirdy, of all people, would be more neutral about this. "First Jack flies off the fucking handle, now you're acting like I said I wanted to fuck Jack's mom. I know Bitty's happy working for him right now, and I shouldn't have tried to get in the middle of all that, but why the fuck is everyone so fucking offended that I might want to give his fucking _friend_ a fucking _job_ after college?"

Thirdy pulls back, brow furrowed in confusion. "A job? You… you _said to Jack_ those exact words, 'I wanna give Bitty a job'?"

"What? I don't know, maybe? Probably not, I guess?" He thinks back to what he said to Jack today, and what he said to Bitty last night. "I guess I didn't spell it out, but like I said, I've hired Bitty to do some baking for me on the side _twice_ now. And I know Jack can't be paying him what he's worth, he'll barely let _me_ charge him _less_ than I think he's worth. And I've told him that. What the fuck else would I be talking about?"

Thirdy squints at him. "Jack can't be paying him what he's worth for…"

"For the amount of cooking and baking he does! Did you know he doesn't just make Jack's meals when he's in town, he leaves him with a freezer full of meals for when he's gone? I know they're friends and all, but all the more reason for Jack to spend his fucking _millions of dollars_ paying his friend well for the ridiculous amount of work he's doing _while_ he's going to school _and_ playing his own hockey!"

"Oh my god." Thirdy puts his face in his hands for a few seconds, then straightens up and grabs Jesse by the arm. "Okay, come with me."

He drags him down the hall to the room Jack and Marty are in. Jack's jaw muscle jumps when he sees Jesse come in, and even Marty is glaring at him.

"Snowden, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Jesse blinks at Marty. Why is fucking _everyone_ on Jack's side in this?

"Guys—" Thirdy tries to break in calmly, but Jesse doesn't have to fucking take this.

"What the fuck is wrong with _me?_ What the fuck is wrong with all of _you??_ Christ—Jack, look, it's easy, okay? You don't want to lose him, just double whatever I offer him, yeah? If he's really worth it to you—and he should be—just make sure I can't pay him more than you."

 _"Pay?_ " Jack's quiet tone is, frankly, even scarier than his yelling. He starts to move toward Jesse and Jesse is pretty sure Marty won't stop Jack from giving him a black eye or worse, but luckily Thirdy scrambles to get in between them, holding a hand up to Jack.

"Snowy," Thirdy says, but his eyes are on Jack, "what do you want to pay Eric to do?"

"Uh, I don't know—" Okay, sarcasm is probably not his smartest move at the moment, and it might get him a tooth knocked out, but he is so done with all of this. "—the same fucking things he does for Jack?"

Jack's nostrils flare and he fucking _growls_ , honest-to-god _growls_.

Thirdy turns to Jesse, looking exasperated. "Work with me here, bro. _What exactly is it that you think he does for Jack?_ Please be as fucking detailed in your response as possible."

"Bakes a lot? Cooks… meals? Makes his fucking PB&Js for games? Cooks _more_ meals to leave when he's gone? Comes down here when he should probably be doing his fucking homework to cook for you?"

Jack and Marty both stop and just stare at him for a second. All of the rage drains from Jack's face, from his posture. Then Marty fucking cracks up. Jack sighs and covers his face, and Jesse can hear a muffled "thank fucking god" from behind his hands.

Jesse throws up his hands. He gives up.

"Why," he asks Thirdy, "what else does he do for Jack?"

"Ouais, Jack," Marty asks, still laughing, "qu'est-ce qu'il te sert d'autre? Des tartes, des sandwiches, et du pain de fesse?"

Jack drops his hands in order to flip Marty off with a glare. But he's blushing, which is really weird, because the only fucking word Jesse caught in all that was fucking _sandwiches_.

"So wait, Jack," Thirdy says, "did you tell him or not? 'Cause if you didn't, wasn't it kinda obvious he must have meant something else?"

"Tell me what?" Jesse asks warily.

"No, we haven't told him," Jack says. "He's on the list, we were actually gonna tell him soon. But Bitty sent him a link to his vlogs, and he talks about me a lot on those—I mean, obviously he doesn't get into specifics, but there's enough information that someone who knows us could probably figure it out. We even agreed beforehand that if he figured it out from those, we were okay with it. So I just assumed he had. It sure as hell sounded like it."

"Figured out what?" Jesse asks. "I've only watched like five of those. I mean, they're good, I just haven't had much of a chance."

"Have you watched any recent ones?" Jack asks him, eyebrow raised. "Like, anything posted since about August?"

Jesse shakes his head. "No. Why? Could we please just tell me now, so I know what the fuck I said to piss everyone off? Because I know you might not believe this, but I'd rather not do that again."

"I'm not paying Bittle to cook for me," Jack says with a sigh.

Jesse frowns. "Seriously?" If anything, the situation makes even _less_ sense now. "You really fucking should be, you realize that, right?"

Jack gets this fond little smile on his face. "Believe me, if I thought he'd take my money, I'd be throwing it at him."

"Okay, sorry, but that just makes everything weirder. No offense, I know you guys are friends, but—"

"He's my boyfriend."

Well, that sure as hell shuts Jesse up.

"Shit," he finally says. "Fucking fuck. Holy fucking shit."

"Yeah," is all Jack says.

"So wait, who else knows?" It's not really a relevant question, honestly, but he can't think of anything else to say.

"On the team? Just these guys and Tater right now," Jack says with a shrug. "We only started telling people like a month ago."

"Shit," Jesse says again. "So—fuck, so he thought I was hitting on him last night?"

"Well, you did say he was hot," Jack replies, eyes sparkling with amusement. Jesse can feel his face heating.

"I mean, he _is_ ," he says before he can think better of it. "Shit. I'm not trying to—I just—"

By now the amusement in Jack's eyes has become a full-on smirk. "Hey, man, I'm not arguing," he says with a shrug.

"But I mean, what else was I supposed to think? He's here kind of weirdly often for just a friend, right? And you told me yourself he leaves meals for you in your freezer, buddies don't just _do_ that. I mean, maybe now and then but not like _weekly_."

"Just bros being bros," Thirdy says with a laugh.

"Actually, Bittle might," Jack says thoughtfully. "I mean, he definitely wouldn't be visiting me as often, but I can almost guarantee he would leave food for me when he _did_ visit, whether or not we were dating. He feeds, like, our entire team at Samwell."

"And, like, I barely talked him into letting me pay him $20 an hour for my stuff, so it seemed like you must be paying him way less than that. Which would seriously be a fucking crime."

"Oh, not a chance." Jack shakes his head, eyes wide. "I tried to get him to charge you _more_. Trust me, I fully understand what his skills are worth. Look, he has no clue what he wants to do after graduation right now. He might want to bake professionally, but he also thinks it might be one of those things where as soon as you start getting paid it sucks all the passion out of you. But if he does decide to go that route there is no way I'll let him undercharge for it."

"I'm totally fucking serious, though, man," Jesse says earnestly. "If he does want to do the personal chef thing, I'll fucking hire him in a second. Hell, if he's gonna be around this summer, I'll hire him for the fucking summer!"

"I'll tell him that," Jack says, smiling. "And I'll tell him not to cancel your sister's cake while I'm at it."

"Thank fucking god."

"Okay, if you two aren't going to slit each other's throats," Thirdy breaks in, "you both fucking stink, and so do we. Let's hit the showers."

As they leave the room, Jesse claps Jack on the shoulder. "But congrats, man. He's a fucking catch, good job."

Jack smiles at the floor and scratches the back of his head.

"Yeah, trust me, I know." He glances up at Jesse. "Y'know, after that comment about him being hot, he was worried your suggestion about getting coffee when you pick up the cake was you trying to ask him out on a date."

"Bro," Jesse says. "I know better than to try to date a teammate's friends. That's just asking for trouble."

Jack hums in agreement, nodding. They're almost to the locker room when he stops and lowers his voice.

"So your problem is that he's a teammate's friend?" Jack asks, eyebrow raised. "Not, y'know, that he's a guy?"

Jesse shrugs. He didn't really _mean_ to let that slip, but he did already call Bitty hot, and clearly Jack isn't gonna judge him for it.

"I'm pretty fucking picky, but not about what's in someone's pants, you know what I mean?"

Jack nods, considering. "Yeah, actually, I know exactly what you mean."

Jesse grins at him as they head into the locker room.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Ouais, Jack, qu'est-ce qu'il te sert d'autre? Des tartes, des sandwiches, et du pain de fesse?_ \- Yeah, Jack, what else does he serve you? Pies, sandwiches, butt bread?
> 
> Because apparently [butt bread](http://parenthesecanada.canalblog.com/archives/2014/02/18/29241193.html) (literally "bread of the buttock") is a thing in Quebec. Thanks, red.
> 
> Want more? I wrote 1300 words worth of Jack/Bitty conversations to help me work out what was happening when in this fic, which I have posted [over on Tumblr!](https://porcupine-girl.tumblr.com/post/157429010019/i-just-posted-my-fth-auction-fic-excuse-me-while)


End file.
